Before his Iron body, slamming his chin against the hard-packed earth would have blinded him with pain, and perhaps lost him a tooth. Now, he only felt pressure hitting his jaw, and he instantly twisted to see what had snared him.
A line of purple madra stuck to his ankle like spider’s silk, stretching back to a figure of purple light lurking in the trees. Like all Remnants, it looked like a collection of brush-strokes, as though someone had painted it into existence. This one was tall and sunken, with inhumanly long limbs and the gaping face of a fish. Its thin, webbed fingers were tipped in claws, and its blank purple eyes were fixed on Lindon.
His heart hammered, and he had to focus to keep his breath even and steady so that his madra didn’t slip out of control. Not long ago, he would have panicked at this sudden attack.
But that was before Eithan had locked him in a stone ruin alone for two weeks. Panic could wait until the fight was done.
The spirit was still two dozen yards away, but it already had him. The purple string fastened to his ankle stretched back to the Remnant’s outstretched hand.
Lindon filled his hand with madra and struck out, driving an Empty Palm into the string…but the line only quivered. It remained fastened to his ankle, one end stuck as though it had grown out of his skin.
The Remnant made a sound like a bubble popping, and the line started dragging Lindon across the forest floor.
His breath came in ragged gasps, and he was having more trouble keeping his breathing technique steady. When he tried to grab the string and pull, his hand passed right through the madra.
Gesha was drifting alongside him, the legs of her spider-construct matching his pace. “You think too highly of yourself, and this is what comes. A Jade would have sensed my approach when I returned to camp. A Jade would have felt this fellow coming.”
“Honored Fisher,” Lindon grunted, straining to reach one of the goldsteel tools that remained on the dirt. “Help me, please!”
“An Iron child in these woods should have no more pride than a mouse, no more courage than a rabbit. But you have your eyes on the future. You stare only at your goal far away, so you miss the traps before your feet.”
Mustering all his strength, Lindon Enforced his arms, driving his hands into the soft earth. The Remnant pulled him through the dirt for another moment, plowing two furrows before his momentum stopped.
Gesha stopped as well, still speaking idly. “This is a lesson for all sacred artists, not just Soulsmiths. A snake who tries to swallow an elephant will only choke.”
Lindon may have been too preoccupied with the Remnant trying to eat him than with Gesha’s instruction, but he couldn’t see how her lesson applied to his current situation. Certainly, he should have taken the time to put down some sort of alarm circle around the camp before he started working on his construct. But he didn’t see what that had to do with his unauthorized Soulsmith experiments.
And did they have to have this talk now? He was face-down in the dirt, clinging desperately to earth with arms outstretched, shoulders aching so badly they were starting to shake.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gesha slowly draw her hook and examine it in the light. Clearly, she was in no rush to help him.
“You are always trying to skip steps, yes? To cheat. This is carelessness, and it will land you in more trouble than this.”
“I understand, Fisher Gesha,” Lindon gasped. “Please, let me free.”
Something grabbed him by the right hip, and then by the back of the neck. More webs, stretching out from the purple Remnant.
“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t.” Fisher Gesha beckoned with her left hand, and a purple line appeared between her fingers and the Remnant. “One way or the other, do not tell the Underlord I helped you out of danger.”
She heaved on her line, and the Remnant was jerked off its feet as though it weighed nothing, tumbling over the ground as her purple string shortened. When it was dragged to her feet, she swept her goldsteel hook through the spirit’s neck.
Bright sparks of violet essence sprayed into the air like blood, and the Remnant’s head fell away.
The force pulling on Lindon released, and he sagged into the ground, his arms and shoulders crying out in relief. “This one humbly thanks you, Fisher Gesha.”
“Not this one,” she said. “Before we return, tell me what you have learned today.”
“I am careless. I overstep myself, leaping forward when I should progress slowly and carefully.”
“Mm. So long as you have learned.”
He didn’t tell her what he had really learned.
He would have caught the Remnant’s approach if he were Jade. And she, a Highgold, had swatted it like a fly.
That was the real lesson: if you were powerful enough, you could accomplish anything.
Chapter 2
Tears glistened in Jai Chen's eyes as Jai Long held her hand. “Kral died fighting beside me,” he told her. “He went quickly and courageously. He died a hero.”
“The Underlord…killed him?” his little sister asked. She labored to push her voice out, every breath a fight against the invisible weight on her chest.
Jai Long squeezed her hand a little harder, but restrained himself so as not to hurt her. “A boy he brought with him. Just an Iron.”
Jai Chen's eyes opened wide, and her arms fluttered as though she’d tried to raise them. “An Iron?”
“He struck like a coward. From behind, with a stolen weapon. Even another Highgold couldn't have faced Kral and lived.”
The tears welled up again, and Jai Chen sniffled. “Young master Kral...” She couldn't seem to choke out the rest of the words.
Jai Long smoothed her bedsheets. “I would have told you before, but I've had many preparations to make.”
He reached down, unlatching a scripted case. From within, he produced his surprise: the Ancestor's Spear, a glowing shaft of Forged white madra scratched lightly with lines of script. Jai Chen struggled upwards in bed to get a look, straining to push herself upright.
“From the very top of the Transcendent Ruins,” he told her, as she extended hesitant fingers to touch it. She looked at him for permission, and only rested her hand upon it when he nodded.
“It's warm...”
“It draws madra from others into me,” Jai Long said, and she jerked her hands back. “No no, you can touch it. It only means I’ll become stronger for every clan member I...defeat.”
“Then you’ll avenge young master Kral?” she asked quietly.
He placed the spear back into its case, latching it back, so the precious madra didn't dissipate. The scripts on the spear prevented madra decay, but the Sandviper Soulsmiths couldn't say by how much. It was always best to be careful—if he lost this weapon, there was no replacement.
“I would have avenged him on the spot, if not for the Underlord.” He patted her arm. “But the Arelius family is not entirely without honor. They will allow me to face him in the arena, in one year's time.”
Sadness crept over her face, but it took her a few full breaths before she could speak. “Back to the Empire? But we…we…” He waited patiently as she focused on her breathing. “…we were going to leave. Do…do you…want to go back?”